


Brother, Mine

by parareve



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dreamseer!Fai, Gen, Infinity, M/M, Piffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4578999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parareve/pseuds/parareve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, his dreams were different. Sometimes, he was there, but Fai wasn't. And even though he denied it-begged for it to not be true-he knew differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother, Mine

Magicians dream.

Any magic user worth their wit knows this; being able to see beyond human perception is an unspeakable advantage, both on the battlefield and in high court, and honing the ability is a skill that grew throughout the ages to be both respected and feared.

Just as dreams can felt, heard, and remembered, they can also be used. In the tongues of old, the power was called  _ladra_ _ìlem_ , the power to see into the void. Those who valued the power and the positive outcomes it could bring called it divinence, while those who feared it, who saw it as a gateway to evil and destruction, called it hellsight. Mostly commonly, it was referred to as dreamseeing.

Some dreamseers were different than others. Some could see through time—sporadic events, usually with unknown but foreboding meanings, only able to offer glimpses of the future without cause or reason. Some could see into other realities, their dreams a picture book of the results of decisions to be made. Some could see themselves, spanned across time and space, each dream a short but vivid look into a life that was not their own.

And then there were some—a very rare division of magicians, outclassing their peers in a way that unsettled most—that could see into the very dimensions themselves.

Fai was one of them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first time it happened, he was still young.

His magic was a strange thing inside of him—pulsing and alive with each breath he took, each pump of blood that rushed in and out of his heart, living and growing alongside him. He could feel it tingle in his fingertips with each spell he cast, and surge with every emotion. He could feel it in his dreams.

It had always been there. It hovered in the back of his conscious, a small nagging sensation that gradually grew more persistent when slumber overtook him.

Usually, his dreams were childish, pleasant—when they could be. Before the cold, and the gossip, and the hateful sentence that had plagued his mind with blood-splattered nightmares of a looming tower and the deranged sentence of his then king. Before he had swam through hell and crawled back out, skin and bones but somehow still breathing.

But sometimes his dreams were… _different_. And he couldn’t quite explain it then, because he had never known what it was.

He was young. He was still a child, still naïve in his youth, still learning to understand the feeling of a full stomach and the warmth of a fur cloak and the cool touch of air on the back of his neck. He was still learning what magic was.

One night, he dreamed of rolling plains. There were flowers with colors brighter than Seresu’s midsummer sunsets, and grass greener than the vegetables he so loathed during their winter feasts. The sky was so  _blue_ , it had looked brighter than the gems of fluorite that shone on his royal robes.

And he had been there—he could recognize his own presence immediately, their auras connecting in a blinding surge. He was young there, too, and though he could sense it was himself, something about it was different. There was a small girl with him, her hair like a ripe pumpkin, and an older looking boy with jet black hair and sharp features even for his youthful face. They were all crouched in the grass, giggling and grinning over an insect, and he had become so entranced by the happiness of it all that he had never questioned for a moment why Fai wasn’t there.

It felt like it was his little secret. He never told Ashura—this happy dream was special to him, and though he couldn’t quite decipher it, he knew it was significant. He just didn’t know why. And at the time, he didn’t care to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The second time it happened, he had been older.

He had grown out of his youthful innocence, boasting instead the confidence and wisdom of a young man in court. He was still childish—his fellow D-titled wizards knew him as a prankster, and Ashura never missed the chance to give his adoptive son a teasing shake of the head—but his magic had matured, and in several ways so had he.

He knew he had power. He could feel it within him, just as he always could, and it was stronger now. It was no longer a pleasant tingle within his hands, but a deadly, electric surge of raw energy. He rarely had to spend time on his spells, and the majority of his power was well-known and comfortable to him.

But the one part he still couldn’t grasp was his dreams. There was something about them he couldn’t place; it had only happened once before that he knew he had seen something he shouldn’t have been able to, something that shouldn’t have been possible. He had seen himself, in a different world, with people he had never known. And he had seen himself without Fai.

He didn’t understand what that place had been. Could it have been a different world? Or a reincarnation of himself?  Or maybe a different reality entirely? He wasn’t a dreamseer—he  _knew_  he wasn’t—because if he was, then he would have crossed paths with another. At least, that’s what Ashura had told him. This was something that happened often, and though magicians were able to dream with special capabilities, you could not always be sure that the power of a dreamseer had awoken within you until you found yourself in the footsteps of another.

So for the months that followed, he continued to tell himself he wasn’t one. He had convinced himself he wasn’t—not because he was sure, but because he feared the possibility. Superstition clung to him like a leech, despite his years of trying to pull away from it, and the idea of seeing a life that wasn’t your own made his blood cold. He didn’t  _want_  to see other lives. He didn’t  _want_  to see the future, or the past. He didn’t want any of it.

He didn’t want to carry Ashura’s burden.

Then, one night, he dreamed of something strange. He dreamed of marble halls, gleaming with polish and painted with reflections of swirling velvet skirts. There was music, and a jumbled roar of laughter mixed the jingle of jewelry and silverware. Something about that place was familiar—even as he stepped along those glassy tiles, his eyes sweeping with confusion across faces preoccupied with their own conversation, he felt an eerie sense of having done something like this before.

Then there was an abrupt clap of iron on stone, just like the sound of Ashura’s scepter requesting attention. With the hundreds of others around him, he turned his eyes to the throne centered in the hall. And he saw himself. He looked older, his mess of blond waves tamed beneath a simple weave of golden leaves, pale silks and furs and jewels adorning him, and as he stood, his robes rippling behind him, a voice from the front of the dais rang out—

“All hail, his Lord and Majesty, High Wizard of the Court, Bearer of the Divine Title, Yuui of Lefievan, Crowned King of Valeria!”

He woke in a cold sweat. And even though part of him  _ached_  to tell Ashura, to beg it to not be true, he already knew; the announcement ringing in his ears, he had torn his eyes away from the titled noble that shared his name, and had seen the ghosting presence of his own king.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The third time it happened was in the ancient world of Koryo.  

From the moment they had landed in that world, his magic had been flaring within him, begging to be used. There was an overbearing pressure of magic there; every aura seemed heightened to him, if not by the Ryanban’s control itself then at least by the influence of the barrier that surrounded it, and his magic had been steadily tugging away from his control in response.

Even if he had pledged not to use it, his magic sometimes had a mind of its own. He couldn’t help but react to the spells around him, even if he didn’t want to; and after the days of battle and blood that had followed, he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

He hadn’t expected, however, to fall into a realm of dreams again. It had been a long time since that hellish dream of himself seated on Valeria’s throne, seeing a completely different picture of the country he had come to so bitterly hate—no longer were people spitting on his name, or parting in disgust for his alleged ill omens, but  _praising_  him, of all things.

It had created an uneasy tie between his dreams and realities he had little care to see, and after that night so long ago, he had been haunted by the prospect of seeing something like that again. But in Koryo, the dream was something else entirely.

He was older again, but in a different way. It was the first thing he saw—he fell into his dreams exhaustively, not expecting to see his own face, let alone any other reality. His magic was aged, almost as if it was different entirely, but his body was still young. His clothes were strange, too, something he had never seen before. The long panels of silk draped over his limbs at awkward lengths, and his skin looked much too pale against their dark patterns, but he seemed…at peace. He was sitting on a low wooden terrace, and within his fingers was the small, tanned hand of another.

It was a little girl. He was teaching her magic, Fai realized, and after she had run off, the presence of another moved beside him. And it took him a long moment to recognize those familiar red eyes within a matured face.

He woke puzzled after that, unsure what to make of it. He had never seen that world before, or that little girl—but he knew that was Kurogane, or at least some version of him. And for a few moments after he had woken, he stared into the darkness at the man who slept with his broad back facing him, trying to make sense of it all. Trying not to let his heart soften, even just a little bit, at the possibility.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The fourth time it happened was in Piffle.

A modern world, full of dizzyingly fast technology and bright lights, it was one few could compare to. Fai loved it. He loved the noise, and the bustle of the city, and the energy that pulsed in the busy streets—but most of all, he loved the buildings. They stretched infinitely high, like towering glass spears, each floor a window into the one below it.

Kurogane never stopped his grumbling for the sounds of traffic and the obnoxiously bright glare of streetlamps at night, but for some reason Fai found he slept better with them. And the night before their big race, he started dreaming.

No matter what he told himself, he had grown close to Syaoran and Sakura. They had instantly become family figures to him, and try as he might, he couldn’t help but want to help them grow closer and develop as individuals. He cared for them as if they were his children. Sometimes, more and more, he found himself wishing they were.

But then, he dreamed of a different boy and girl. In the clamor of a city plaza, the ocean breeze overpoweringly salty and the crisp scent of a bakery nearby, he instantly found himself focusing on two small children playing around a fountain. They were both blond, both with an energy that rivaled his own and grins bigger than he could try to muster. The little boy had eyes that were such a light hazel they almost looked gold, and his mop of blond waves was a close replica of his own. The little girl had his eyes, brighter than the sky, and her hair was a mess of tangled curls.

He felt something strange in his chest. He had never, not even once, thought about the idea of his  _own_  children. Not of his own bloodline, of his own family. He had such distaste for the idea of his blood relatives that he had never even entertained the thought of having children. But then he was there, running up behind them with arms outstretched, scooping them into a hug and dissolving into a pool of giggles with them.

He had never thought of being called Papa.

They asked the other version of him about their grandmother, and when he cheerfully mentioned his mother’s name, Fai stepped away impulsively. They never asked about an uncle. They never asked about a godfather.

He tried to swallow down the pain as he woke blearily the next morning. Could it be possible that there were realities where his family was still there? Where they didn’t hate him? Where he could happily continue his bloodline without resentment or bitterness?

Were those realities only possible without Fai?

That morning, he didn’t respond to any questions about his silence. He smiled and dressed and acted as if everything was fine. But away from prying eyes, he leaned back against the bathroom’s closed door and pressed his hands to his face, muffling the sound of his shaking breaths as tears spilled behind his fingers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The fifth time it happened was in Infinity.

He hated that world, hated the menacing checkered board they strode across each week, hated the way that after all the pain he had endured he had never truly felt that empty, hated the way crimson eyes followed him like a hawk with care and pain mixed within them, hated the way he used the girl who needed his support the most like a crutch for his own selfish comfort.

But there was one thing that loathed world provided that he couldn’t hate as much as he wished, and that was solitude. He had the comfort of his own room, his own privacy, and for the first time after his transformation he didn’t have to worry about Kurogane’s watchful gaze.

This meant he could sleep peacefully. He could dream peacefully. And for once, he welcomed these dreams, these other realities and personas he could slip into without guilt or anger; these other worlds he could let himself become a part of, even if it was just for a moment.

And one night, he dreamed of himself. A much, much older version of himself—still young in body, but with eyes that were pale with age, and feeble hands that traced along the objects around him. There was a sadness within him, slowly merging towards something that felt like acceptance, and Fai found himself watching in confusion as thin fingers that were not his own moved over a faded indigo scarf on the table in front of him.

“I miss you,” said the voice that was not his own, and the other Fai’s eyes slowly closed. “I miss you. I love you. Please, let me see you again…please.”

Fai stared around the room, at the faded drawings of strange animals and paintings of tribal markings that hung on the wall. Pictures of his father standing beside a man with a familiar grin, and his mother talking excitedly with a dark-haired woman. Pictures of a boy akin to Syaoran, that ranged from him as a young toddler standing beside the other Fai to him as a grown man. And then, gradually, his eyes found the scarf again, recognizing the knotted wrinkles of a headband that had been tied too many times.

That was the night he woke with a heavy heart and a lingering sense of guilt in his chest. That was the night he knew—even if he yelled to himself that he was wrong—that something about this was meant to be. Something about  _them_  was meant to be. Almost seamlessly, they would come together, again and again, across dimensions. That had to mean something.

That was the night he walked into Kurogane’s room, kneeling at the bedside of the man who blinked out of his sleepless daze and stared at him in confusion. He had taken Kurogane’s hand slowly, drawing it to his mouth and pressing a light kiss to his knuckles, and even as puzzled questions started to rumble from the other man’s chest, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” was all he murmured, and he kissed Kurogane’s knuckles again, pressing his forehead to his hand. The comforting touch of a calloused hand smoothed across his temple, Kurogane sitting up to pull him closer, and for the first time in six months, Fai didn’t push him away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He tried to act surprised when Syaoran’s remorseful eyes met his own. He tried to keep the presence of another lie unknown as a slow sense of pain churned within him.

“If I hadn’t gotten involved, it’s possible you might not have been born a twin at all.”

Fai’s gaze flickered away, and yet even as the sense of shock had started to settle over his face, he knew that Kurogane knew, that Syaoran did too. His lips twitched at a smile, bittersweet and willful, as his brows drew together.

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I this came about after discussing headcannons with pokethetriforce on tumblr. I took the idea of Fai being a dreamseer and ran with it (in quite possibly the worst direction), and this monster was born. So, you know, naturally I add more angst to his already angst-oozing past. (I am too mean to this boy, he has been through enough.) Thanks for reading!


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